


Threshold

by recrudescence



Category: Glee RPS
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-30
Updated: 2010-05-30
Packaged: 2017-10-09 19:27:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/recrudescence/pseuds/recrudescence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris turns twenty. Celebrating is in order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Threshold

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/glee_kink_meme/1224.html?thread=2714824#t2714824) from the Glee Kink Meme.

  
"Good birthday, huh?"

"Best ever." Chris is full of cake and a few stolen sips of champagne, utterly satisfied. Having a warm bed and a warm Mark at his disposal is the perfect sendoff from his teenage years.

"Get everything you wanted?"

"Mostly." He rests his shoulder against the bathroom doorjamb and watches the way Mark's shirt stretches taut across his back as he bends over the sink. "You know what I want." Chris doesn't think he's quite mastered the art of sounding flirty without also sounding mildly ridiculous, but Mark just finishes washing his face and curls a damp hand under Chris's chin.

"Not yet." Cupping his face, kissing him, and the taste of toothpaste is fresh in his mouth. "Not until you're one hundred percent sure."

He sulks, but kisses him back. "You just like torturing me. I'm _twenty_ now, for God's sake. I can think for myself."

Mark just raises one eyebrow and slowly strips off his shirt in a move too effortlessly casual to actually _be_ casual, then goes sinking into the drab-patterned hotel armchair. "Twenty is just another word for barely-past-the-jailbait-stage." Chris thinks of making a crack about what this says about _Mark_, exactly, but he's learned that Mark is sensitive enough about their age difference as it is. The least he can do is not act even more immature. "I'm not rushing this with you," Mark adds, sounding so utterly earnest that it would be grossly impolite for Chris to protest.

He does anyway. "_Why_?" Climbing onto him, curling fingers into his belt loops again and kissing him wetly. Trying to be enticing instead of plaintive, but Mark's far from a moron. Chris can feel the thrum of barely muffled laughter against his lips.

"Because I care about you and I don't wanna get my ass kicked for not treating you right. Dipshit." Tapping him on the cheek, then sobering up all at once. "And because the first time I was with a guy it ended in blood, sweat, and tears, and none of 'em were the good kind."

"I'd tell you to stop if anything made me uncomfortable." He snuggles further into his arms, feeling the heat of Mark's bare chest seeping through his t-shirt, the solidity of Mark all around him. "I know you'd make it really good for me. The best."

And of course Mark's kissing him again, telling him he doesn't mind going slowly, which just has Chris grousing that _he_ does, which has Mark pulling seniority on him yet again. "I did stupid shit when I was twenty. Older than that, too. I don't want this to be a stupid decision you make."

"You're not a stupid anything," Chris counters instantly.

"Think about it for a second." One wide hand goes slipping up under his shirt, idly smoothing over the bend of his spine, and Chris's body bows into the touch right away. "Think about how it took you a really long time to realize anyone might want to kiss you. Blow you. See you naked. Think about how you still get embarrassed when you touch yourself in front of me. Even though you know how fucking hot I think it is when you do it." And Chris wants to deny it, but the heat blooms in his cheeks just hearing Mark say these things out loud.

And it sucks doubly because Chris doesn't just blush, he _splotches_. He buries his face in the crook of Mark's neck as discreetly as he can. "Still. I trust you. With everything. You could..."

"Is that what you want me to do, sweetheart?" Slow and gritty-voiced, making Chris's body tingle. Warmth rising in him, as if surging up through the soles of his feet. He listens to what else Mark has to say. "Get your clothes off, bend you over, fuck that sweet little ass?"

He whimpers, squirming in place, thighs pressing and rubbing together. "Very much." His voice sounds so tiny, so unappealing, so _young_. He's hard in his jeans and it's almost making him too lightheaded to talk at all. And Mark is just calmly petting up and down his back.

"Get on the bed," he says, words pitched low, mouth brushing the edge of Chris's ear, and Chris's cock throbs inside his pants.

"Why?" Ohgod, is he actually going to _do_ it now? Mark only looking at him, drawing a finger along his jaw line; Chris turning his head, mouth parted to take in the tip, tongue curling and teeth scraping lightly.

"I'm going to talk you through this," Mark says matter-of-factly, but there's a thread of something a little more dangerous there, too, and Chris's mouth goes dry. "All the things I want to do to you. All the things I'm gonna show you once we work up to that. Now lie down and listen."

He doesn't want talking, he wants the real thing, but he sits on the bed and watches Mark watching him. Lying flat on his back, then, on a significant glance from Mark, letting his mind take hold of the moment for a bit.

And he can see Mark clearly even with his eyes closed, which comes of him wearing things that leave little enough to the imagination as it is. Bare-chested, tanned and muscle-contoured like a Photoshopped Levis ad or something, only all of it happens to be pure Mark. Leaning back in that big chair, jeans on, legs parted and booted.

"Don't touch yourself," warns Mark, and fire scorches through Chris's body.

The age gap is only part of it. Mark isn't much taller, but Chris always feels so small next to him, especially when Mark does things like lift him up as if there's nothing to it, like it's completely normal having Chris clinging to him and demanding to be taken to bed. Making him giggle and flail his arms and squirm around like a kitten scooped up by the scruff of the neck and deposited in a basket. Blindly reaching and seeking and and latching onto him. Just the novelty of being able to touch and be touched is enough to make Chris giddy. Lucky for him Mark doesn't seem to mind at all. Mark doesn't mind a lot of things and it just makes Chris adore him that much more.

"You're new to all this," and Mark sounds almost solemn now. "If I'm gonna be the first one to give it to you, I'm gonna make sure it's good." And Chris hums agreement because even though he's aching to be touched, he's still a little enthralled by how much Mark cares about treating him right. He hasn't ever been in this position before.

"Goddamn, look at you..." trailing off, and he can hear Mark shifting in his seat, maybe parting those jeans-clad legs even more. "When I fuck you, I'm not gonna want to stop. Want it so much, wanna show you how good it can be, just don't want you doing anything because you think you _have_ to. And that's scary as hell to think about sometimes."

"Mark..." His hips are shifting in tight little circles, trying to up the friction against his erection as much as he can without actually using his hands. "You _can_. I—"

"Want it so bad, baby, I know, I _know_. Gonna give it to you till you're _crying_ for more, when we make it there. I fucking love that, how you get so damn hot for it. Love watching you come."

And Chris's mouth is parted, not enough air to breathe, and he's focusing intently on keeping his hands to the mattress and trying not to _squirm_. "Love the way you make me." Babbling back whatever comes to mind, but _fuck_, he couldn't lie about it if he wanted to. He loves Mark touching him, holding him, slipping a hand around him or going down on him or just stroking his ass and stomach and thighs until he's dripping all over himself and writhing for it. His eyes flit open, over, and ohdear_fuck. "Oh." _

Mark is unzipped, touching himself inside parted folds of denim, maybe without any underwear on at all. Hard and huge and it would only take a little work to push his pants open further and _see_. Ever since Puck had that line about going commando, the notion has taken up permanent residence in the more sordid sector of Chris's brain. If Chris walked in on him like that, he'd want to strip bare and crawl right into his lap, feet that body against his own and get Mark's hands on as much of his bare skin as possible, kissing and straddling and frotting up against him. Mark's hands splayed over his ass and Mark's tongue in his mouth, Mark's bare dick rubbing hotwet against his stomach, and he'd _lose_ it. He's on the edge of losing it _now._ "Please...touch...I..."

"Look at you..." Mark says it again, and his eyes are heavy-lidded and glinting, utterly focused on him in a way Chris never used to think anyone would _want_ to focus on him. "So close already, aren't you?" Forearm flexing, hand still pressed inside his parted fly, voice rich and deliberate, and Chris whimpers even though he's sure he sounds like a little girl. "Know you can take my fingers, don't wanna do anything that hurts, just wanna make you love it...open you up and come in you, the way you feel, way you _taste_. Let me screw you for fucking _hours_ till you can't handle any more, then spread you open and just fucking _eat_ you."

And Chris is literally _keening_ like he's gonna die as Mark goes on about licking up into him, pushing his _tongue_—his fucking _tongue_—inside him until Chris is loosened enough to take his cock all over again, till Chris is rocking back against him with his ass in the air and his reservations at the door and pleading so fucking shamelessly for more. "_Mark._"

He's inexhaustible, filthy words streaming gravel-rough out of his mouth, and Chris would plead for him to stop and just _touch_ him if he weren't pruriently curious to know what _else_ has been building up in Mark's apparently very dirty mind.

And, _oh_, is there more.

"Wanna have you sit on my dick and ride me till you get off, then turn you on your stomach and do it all the fuck over again, make you come so many times you're too exhausted to get hard. Wanna open you up with my fingers and play with you like that, make you scream for it. Always so fucking _tight_ for me, fucking yourself on my fingers and begging for more even when you're coming all over yourself. Thought about getting a dildo and watching you fuck yourself on it, maybe watch you get yourself ready and then just push it up into you...and _that's_ why I worry you're gonna think I'm a fucking nympho sometimes." And he laughs, strained and adorably self-conscious, and Chris would reassure him with a _vengeance_ if he were capable of uttering anything more articulate than a moan.

He didn't think anyone could talk this way. Not outside of porn, not in a way that actually got anyone off. He's _panting_, hands clawed in the covers and skin sweat-clammy inside his clothes. "Oh, God..."

"Think about it sometimes, when I finger-fuck you, then you go down on me...think about you doing it before I fuck you. You've got such a hot fucking mouth. You know that, right? Love it when you suck me off. You always get so into it, making those little sounds like _you're_ the one getting off."

There's no way out. Chris is sure he has to be soaked through his boxers, through his _jeans,_ he feels so impossibly wet. Feels it happening before he can stop it. His throat catching around a shocked cry, thighs clenching around the hand he _shoves_ there all of a sudden—trying to hold off just a _little_ longer, but just one press against his crotch and he's arching off the mattress and feeling the world blur into a roaring whirl of whiteness.

Settling back to the bed, hazy-headed and still half-hard, rubbing against the slick mess inside his underwear. Fuck. _Fuck_.

He doesn't even get to his feet, doesn't know that he'd be able to walk if he did—he topples off the bed and fucking _crawls_ back over to that chair, vision glazed but riveted on only one thing.

Mark is leaking, the head of his cock pressed to a patch of dampness on his belly. Chris wets his lips, almost shyly leaning in to kiss and lick low on his stomach—Mark tightening up, and his cock actually brushes Chris's cheek. Chris drawing a breath as he's drawing light fingers through the sticky slickness there, pressing and probing curiously at the little opening at the tip, and another pulse of precome pushes out of him. "You feel so good. In my hand." Squeeze, then _suck_. "In my mouth."

Taking him in again, slow and wet and letting himself groan slightly to emphasize. Grip-tugging at denim to drag those pants down Mark's legs and grant himself even more access. He's spilling out words ineptly, but meaning every last one. "And I...I just want to find out how good you feel when you're fucking me."

"Chris...fuck..."

"Will you? I'll stop you if I don't like it, I promise. Do whatever you'd say." Letting Mark ride his hips up, slipping deeper into his mouth as he's slipping a hand underneath to cradle him. Need welling in him, hardening a second time in his soiled underpants, hearing Mark swear softly, feeling one of those big palms gently settling on his head. Slippery and searing-hot, swallowing him as well as he can and pushing his other hand down his own pants, trying to writhe out of them as much as possible as he's fisting his cock. Wriggling up higher on his knees so he can sink his mouth down that much _more_, until Mark's head falls back and there's the hot-bitter tang of his release filling Chris's mouth.

It's really nice, in a kinky kind of way—Mark with his jeans shoved down around his boots and Chris's cheek resting on his bare thigh. Mark's hand is clumsily working through his hair, like he hasn't quite recovered enough muscle coordination to do anything else.

"I swear to God I wasn't this dirty when I was your age," he says finally, and his thumb brushes the damp dip of Chris's upper lip.

"It's all downhill from here, right?" Chris finds himself sitting back on his heels, beaming up at him. "Next year, I'll be old enough to _drink_."

Mark, ever the mature one, just gives him the finger.


End file.
